Chef Chris: Finding Balance Between the Heat and the Heart

My Rhythm Beyond the Flame

By Chef Chris

The kitchen doesn’t run on clocks — it runs on rhythm. If you’ve ever worked behind the line, you know what I mean. There’s a pulse to it — the early buzz of prep, the chaos of service, and that calm, heavy silence when the last pan cools.

For me, it’s never been a 9-to-5 life. It’s a life built around flavor, fire, and focus. But somewhere in the middle of all that heat, I learned that balance isn’t a luxury — it’s how you survive.

Morning: Before the Flame

My mornings always start with coffee — it’s not just part of my day; it is my day. I wake up, take a shower, grab my laptop and backpack, and step out with a cigarette in hand. The walk to Al Rigga Metro Station has become part of my rhythm — my small daily ritual.

The metro is my quiet space before the rush. I slip on my earphones, play some music, and let my thoughts drift between flavours, ideas, and what the day might bring. It’s simple — coffee, music, movement — but it sets the tone. It keeps me grounded before the fire begins.

Midday: In the Heat

By noon, the energy changes. The kitchen wakes — knives tapping, pans hissing, voices rising in unison. It’s hot, loud, relentless… but this is where I come alive.

Every order is a rhythm, every plate a reflection of teamwork. The chaos can be overwhelming, but when everything clicks, it feels like music — loud, beautiful, precise.

Finding balance here doesn’t mean slowing down. It means finding calm inside the storm — taking a breath between tickets, cracking a quick joke with the team, staying focused when the pressure peaks. That’s where the real art lives — in the rhythm of controlled chaos.

Night: After the Last Ticket

When the last plate leaves the pass, the kitchen exhales. The rush fades, but the discipline doesn’t. Before I even think about heading out, there’s still work to be done.

I check in with the team, do turnovers, remind everyone about tomorrow’s prep, deliveries, and any adjustments for the next service. We finalize what needs to be done — making sure every detail is in place before the lights go out.

Only then do I let myself slow down. Cleaning down becomes a quiet ritual — metal against metal, the sound of running water, the faint hum of the fridge. It’s reflection time.

Sometimes I stand by the line for a few seconds longer, just looking — feeling both tired and thankful. Then I switch off the hood lights, sling my backpack, and step out into the cool air. That first breath outside the kitchen always feels like freedom.

Day Off: Beyond the Apron

One day off — that’s gold. People think chefs spend it exploring restaurants or catching up with friends. Sometimes, yes — but not always.

Most of the time, I rarely catch up with friends. Honestly, I just enjoy being in bed, coffee nearby, music playing softly in the background. No alarms, no rush — just stillness.

And I’ve learned to stop feeling guilty about that. That quiet time is where I recharge — body, mind, and spirit. It’s where I remember who I am beyond the apron.

Keeping the Flame Alive

Work-life balance for a chef isn’t about separation — it’s about rhythm. The kitchen teaches me focus; life outside teaches me meaning. One sharpens the other.

But in those quiet moments — after the shift ends, after the noise fades — my thoughts often drift back home. I think of my family waiting for my support, believing in me even from miles away. That thought alone keeps me grounded. It reminds me why I do what I do.

There are nights I stand by the sink, exhausted, staring into the stillness, and I ask myself — What’s my purpose in life? And every time, the answer feels the same: to grow, to give, to make them proud.

It’s not just about chasing success or perfecting a recipe. It’s about building a life that means something — one dish, one service, one dream at a time.

Because the truth is, the flame that keeps me going isn’t just in the kitchen. It’s in the thought of home. It’s in the hope that one day, all this hard work — the long hours, the sacrifices, the quiet nights — will lead to something bigger than myself.

That’s what keeps my flame alive.